The Truth in Shadows
by Nyaira
Summary: Millennia after the fall of Egypt, Set, God of Storms and Chaos, had lost his interest in old vices and disputes. However, when Loki broke out of his prison shortly after the conclusion of the Sennen saga, Set was compelled to protect the one mortal he cared most about from the Trickster God's malice. Meanwhile, Seto Kaiba is realizing that he cannot fight on his own anymore.
1. Prologue

The Truth in Shadows

Prologue

"I know you felt it too."

Set's eyes had been closed, but at his brother's voice, he opened them to stare ahead. He did not look at his brother.

Osiris passed in front of him, looking to the side. "He will target him first."

"Hardly," Set replied, "He targets the unexpected. I know him that much."

"And he knows that too."

Zorc Necrophades was a demon. Problematic for mortals, but still rather beneath the notice of deities. Loki was a different matter, and his escape had all of the gods uneasy, not just the Asgardians.

"He might not like this incarnation. The child is far more wounded than last time, and to play with him would mean far less. This time he does not have a whole country to look after."

"He was always a sick bastard," Osiris said lowly, "You know how he killed Baldur, just to prove that he can. What is a mortal life?"

Set's hands clenched, and he finally raised his eyes.

"You mean to tell me," He sneered, "That you _want _me to go, now?"

"There are others who can outsmart Loki," Said Osiris, "But from our pantheon, you alone are a match, and at the tail-end of this latest business with the Millennium Items, the reincarnations living at the same time, exactly as the prophecy foretold—it is prudent, I would think, that we take care he does not target our little ones at their weakest."

"They are no longer our little ones. Their souls have migrated east. The dragon kings are now responsible for them."

"When has that ever stopped you?"

Set resisted the urge to snarl. Osiris was the one to talk…but the years had mellowed both of them out, and the God of Storms could no longer summon the rage that fueled him in his youth. In a way, he missed it; that fiery energy that propelled him forward, the righteous anger when Osiris stole his worshipers. Back in the day, the regard of mortals had meant so much. The gods did not love as well as mortals did, and all beings strove to be loved, no matter what form. Set had been much more naïve then, believing that what was rightfully his would always be so. He had been hurt and outraged when Osiris rose in power, and people started to villify Set, even as he strove to take back what had been his.

And then Egypt faded, and so had Greece and Rome, and as the years went by more and more pantheons were lost to the dust. It no longer mattered who had worshipers, because eventually none of them did. As time went on, Set realized that for all the love mortals might have for the gods, that did not compare to the love they had for each other. That was the only love to persist, and his anger extinguished. What was the point?

Unlike Set, and Osiris, however, Loki had not mellowed out. If anything, he seemed to become more bitter, a fuse waiting for a spark. It was no wonder, for he belonged to a particularly violent pantheon, and battle was their way of things. He could hardly embody the Norse spirit if he were as complacent. However, Loki was hardly productive when it came to expressing his restlessness.

"The dragon kings have their own issues," Osiris continued, "Their mortals angered much of the world. They may not have the attention to spare to outwit one like Loki."

"Since when did _you _care?" Set closed his eyes with a snort.

"Does it matter? Whether or not Loki targets him first, you know he will target him sooner or later."

Set's eyes snapped open again and he gritted his teeth as Osiris walked by, but the other god simply moved out of the room, leaving Set alone.

_He has always been able to take care of himself, _Set sneered in his head, before closing his eyes again.

* * *

The first time Set broke out of his haze of fury was when the child emerged in court.

At that point, few people dared to revere the God of Chaos, as he became named. It was a surprise to realize the boy was named after him, and he wondered what manner of parents would dare, after Osiris had stolen his people so many lifetimes ago and caused the mortals to believe him a fratricidal monster—which, ironically, he was starting to become.

And the child was…unremarkable, really. Smarter than most, but the same stupidly loyal subject all high priests were. All that really caught Set's attention was his name.

But he kept going back, looking, watching, because in those days he hardly even had a name, except one muttered as an oath, and Seto _was _remarkable, just not in a way that was immediately obvious. Young and new, he ascended from the common ranks to that of nobility in a time when such a thing was nearly impossible. One deed after another, and Seto became pharaoh, keeping the land in his cousin's name, and when everyone else regarded him as the living Horus, he never forgot the life he had as a commoner, dispensable and powerless. At nights he would pray, he would worry that his was a life not meant for him, that the power he wielded was undeserved, and Set watched the contrast between the facade he displayed for mortals and the frightened yet brave child he was to the gods.

He never prayed to Set. It seemed the name was as audacious as he could get, but neither did he curse with Set's name, and he was the first one to look upon the lore and wonder out loud, _"What if Set did not…?"_ He said no more than that, but the consideration was enough, because he had been the only one, mortal or otherwise, to give even that much, without any prodding at all.

Set vowed that in the next life, Seto would know no sorrow.

But Seto did not return to Egypt in the next life, and Egypt had few extra lives left. The mighty empire of thousands of years disappeared into the sands. Its people lived on, but their hearts were gone. They wore the same faces, but like all reincarnations, they were no longer the same. When the gods finally ceased their disputes, there was nothing to dispute over. In the end, all of them lost. Set merely lost first.

He hardly thought of the young High Priest who infiltrated the noble ranks from the crowd of commoners, even when his reincarnation finally emerged once more, defiant as always, but bearing the scars of many lifetimes. And Set did not bother warding his life from sorrow. By that point, he was too choked with it himself to ward it from anyone else, much less a child that never prayed to him.

* * *

_"Darkness behind me, and light on my way!" Loki laughed gleefully as he hopped between his two feet, tipping a goblet high over his mouth and letting the wine pour over his lips. His teeth flashed white, and he swallowed once, obscenely, before suddenly emerging by Set's side. "No being can stop what I will do today! Have a drink?"_

_"No."_

_"Hm!" Loki tossed the goblet, where it shattered like clay, despite looking like it was made of gold. "You and I," He slurred a little as he swung himself around to face Set from right in front, "Are very alike."_

_Set regarded him warily. The Trickster god was known to be unpredictable even when he was not a raging maniac. He kept his guard up, just in case Loki tried anything; it was difficult to say if the half-jotunn could best Set at this point. Egypt had died some time ago, enough that the last vestiges of its culture were no more than a memory. However, few worshiped Loki, and the Vikings were never truly strong, nomads and wanderers that they were._

_"Both of us were robbed. Robbed!" Loki staggered back, still smiling and looking inebriated. Set wondered how much of that was faked. He would not put it past Loki to still have full grasp of his wits even when thoroughly drunk. That just seemed to be one ability of the Trickster god. "But that also makes us interesting, yes? Far more interesting than your usual…" He burped._

_"What do you want?"_

_Loki cackled at this. "What do I want! He asks what I want. What do any of us want, in this damned world?"_

_Set snarled, turning away. "I do not have time for this."_

_"Time!" Loki materialized in front of him, grabbing him by the face in a mockery of affection. "Time is the only thing any of us have!"_

_Set shoved him off, and Loki fell to the side, laughing again._

_"You are mad," The God of Storms spat, "Go annoy the Asgardians. Do not waste your time here. I want nothing more to do with you."_

_Loki laughed again, but this time it sounded odd, as if the sound should have been a sob. Set had half the mind to force Loki out with his powers, but then the Trickster god spoke._

_"You ever wonder what it would be like, if the one you loved could live forever?"_

_Set thought of Seto and then wondered why this child, who had grown old and died a long time ago, was the first face to appear in his thoughts. There had been others in the past, ones from the days when Set had been popular and revered. He suspected it was because Seto had been the short life to grace the world when Set was at his darkest. Everyone else had loved Set because they were told to. Seto was the first and only mortal to care at all about Set when there had been no reason to. What would it be like, if the young soul were to live forever in one form, instead of repeating endless cycles, each time starting with a blank slate?_

_"She would have died sooner or later," Loki's face wore a sick smile, "And perhaps if she had died later I would have grown tired of her. Mortals do not age well. Well, not most of them. Some grow as they age. Others just age. Now, we will never know which she would have been."_

_"You are sick." Set wanted to bathe, clean Loki's touch from his skin. He always found the northern gods despicable in their lusts. Mortals were like children; even the oldest of them were but a breath in the lifetime of a god, and to desire any of them that way—he shuddered. Set had loved Seto, loved the child who grew to lead Egypt to a time of prosperity, but he had loved him as a father would a son, a grandfather would a grandson. It occurred to him that Thor might have done the mortal woman a great favor by killing her with that lightning bolt before Loki could get to her. The mortals who were so taken advantage of rarely survive the encounter without serious trauma, and even back then, when Loki had been relatively sane, the Trickster god was hardly the considerate sort. He always had found a disgusting amusement out of hurting others._

_"We are all sick!" Loki hopped to his feet, though his back was turned. "Sick of this world…sick of each other, and yet we are doomed to stay here, for as long as Ragnarok deigns to wait. Do not claim that you feel otherwise, God of Chaos." He turned around then, mouth crooked. "When the end of the world comes, part of you will welcome it, even as you quail in fear."_

_He released another cackle. "That is the true gift of madness, my dear friend! You feel no fear! Why would you, when your very mind is fear itself?"_

* * *

"Loki is among mortals now," Isis reported softly, "We know he had infiltrated their realm. Just not where."

Isis did not bear the years well. She had always been fair and golden, but now her skin had gone grey, as if ill. She had not worn her throne headdress since Egypt had collapsed under the tide of the Romans, and her wig had lost its gloss. A beautiful goddess she still was, but sick and pale and weak and sad.

Like all of them.

"I have no interest in Loki's activities," Set told his sister. His rage had cooled long ago, when she chose to side with Osiris, but that did not mean his love had returned. Some injuries were beyond repair, or if they were not, required far longer than any of the gods had lived.

"You are the only one he would deign to listen to."

"And that is incentive?" He looked away. "I fail to see how Loki is any concern of ours. He is not one of us."

"Great-Grandfather is worried."

Great-Grandfather, Amun-Ra, Creator of all the gods, who sat by as Osiris stole Set's followers and proceeded to blame Set for any ill that befell their great Egypt.

"Is he, now?"

After Egypt was gone, Isis had never been able to meet his eyes, or confront him about anything for long. After a long moment of silence, he sensed her withdraw.

_Poor, pathetic, _Loki's voice jeered, _Pity that human of yours is long dead. I would have enjoyed toying with him just to see if you had any spark left._

He headed out to the balcony of Heaven to look over the world, feeling ill-at-ease. Despite himself, he found his mind draw to the reincarnation.

_He is not the High Priest. _Even so, he had to look, had to see. As much as he wanted to ignore Osiris, his brother was right; Loki would target Seto Kaiba. The Trickster God was miserable and wanted everyone else ten times more so, and it had always infuriated him when he had been unable to touch Set—

The god's shoulders tensed. _Child._

It was not Loki, but Loki was not the only evil that could plague mortals.

Cursing, he hesitated. _You win._ Confound it all, Osiris and Ra and Isis—they all win. He had to go to Seto.

The God of Storms whirled around to prepare to leave.


	2. Chapter One

The Truth in the Shadows

Chapter One

It was almost eleven when he finally finished the document and logged out of his computer. He looked at the clock and sat there staring for a moment, rubbing his eyes wearily. He was so tired he was not even hungry, even though the last meal he ate was about ten hours ago. All he wanted to do was sleep.

Did he always get this tired after a day's work, or was this a new development?

For the first time since he could remember, the idea of coming back tomorrow to work the same long hours knocked the breath out of him. He dreaded coming back here the next day. He felt like he could not do it. He would die. He would die from exhaustion.

_What is wrong with you?_ He shook his head, clearing it, then stood from his seat. There was a dull headache, steady and non-pulsating, and he ignored it for the time being to summon the ride home. Mokuba would be in bed at this point, and Seto mused that lately, he had not been seeing his brother that much. He was always out to work before Mokuba even woke up, and by the time he came home Mokuba should be sleeping.

_Weekend. Just last until the weekend. You can rest up over the weekend, just last until then._

For some reason, he was not sure he could make it till then.

This had never happened before.

There were some rough weeks at Kaiba Corp in the past. Usually, whenever there was a deadline, all of the departments go berserk, and it was not unusual to see everyone still in the office nearing midnight, checking for last-minute bugs, emailing and calling each other, getting everything wrapped up so that the product is on the market on the promised date. Usually this would take a week or two, and people would come in during the weekends, even. Seto himself would come in the weekends, if need be, and usually he was, in fact, needed. He had never felt this fatigued, even at the tail end of such episodes. Today had been a solitary long day, and yet he was so exhausted, he was dreading the trip home because it seemed like another obstacle he had to overcome before falling into bed.

Come to think of it, he felt like he had been rather weary for the last two months.

_Maybe I am just sick._ That happened, once in a while. Perhaps he had been tired, and finally a bug had broken through. He shrugged to himself, dismissing the pull of his weariness with a bit of mental will. Adjust tomorrow, in terms of schedule or diet or attitude, and life went on. Life always went on.

The Kaiba property was dark when his ride pulled up. Seto went through the gates while suppressing his yawns with considerable effort. He did a mental check on all his systems. His nose was not running, as far as he could tell. His body did ache a little. Was he feverish? It was hard to tell. What kind of bug was this?

Mokuba was asleep, as he expected. He was starting to go through a growth spurt, Seto realized. It was a little surprising. It did not feel like that long ago when his brother could be cradled in his arms. Seto use to play with him, pressing his thumbs into the little palms so the baby could squeeze them. At the time, he thought it was because Mokuba recognized him and wanted to hold onto him. Later, Seto learned it was just a primitive reflex that went away after about a month. Still, it was amazing that such a tiny creature would become the lively, bright-eyed child that Mokuba was.

And Mokuba was on the path to turning into a man.

He went to his own room, feeling disturbed. He did not want Mokuba to grow up so fast. He felt like he hardly spent any time with him anymore. When he first defeated Gozaburo, Seto imagined that he could own his life now, direct his days, but in reality the market did. Profits went up and down, and it was a constant race, like the Red Queen, to keep the company in the same place. One false move, one faltering moment, and everything could crash. That was what happened to Gozaburo, after all. So his work swallowed him, swallowed his life, and Mokuba lived on, kept growing, because time slowed for no one, even well-meaning brothers, and soon Mokuba would depart from Seto's life to make his own.

He tried not to feel crushed by that knowledge. He had given up everything for Mokuba. It hurt, that Mokuba would never do the same. Seto would never want him to, but the child's current adoration was all Seto had, and when Mokuba grew up, it would not be there anymore. Mokuba would have commitments to his own family, his own friends. He already did. And once Mokuba left, Seto would have nothing.

_You need sleep,_ He told himself, disgusted at how pathetic he was being. _Mokuba is not grown up yet. He still needs you._

He went to sleep.

The next morning Seto felt a little bit better. This time, he managed to stay until Mokuba woke up and had breakfast.

"You look really tired," His brother noted, "Maybe you should have a shorter day at work."

"We shall see." Whenever Seto planned for a shorter day, it inevitably got longer. Shortcuts tend to turn into longcuts. "Think there is a bug going around, you be careful."

"Will do." Mokuba looked worried. "Brother, I'm serious. You should leave work early today."

It said something about how poorly Seto was feeling when he found himself actually considering Mokuba's suggestion. He was not sure he could last until eleven like the night before. There were three meetings, one at ten, one at one, one at four…maybe he could make it home by seven, if he just pushed all the work to his employees this time. Seto was a perfectionist by admission, but he did not become as successful as he was without knowing how to delegate.

Mokuba's hand was on his forehead. It was only because it was his little brother that Seto did not yank his head back.

"You kind of feel hot. Maybe you shouldn't go in."

That was pushing it. "Eat your breakfast, Mokie," He ordered, "I can take care of myself. You're not my keeper."

"Just you wait until you're an old guy," His brother huffed. The words made absolutely no sense to Seto, but Mokuba did not elaborate, instead eating his meal obediently.

* * *

He made it until five, before he felt so sick with fatigue that he cut the meeting before it was actually over. He snapped that it was because the meeting was stupid—and it kind of was, because they kept talking in circles and no one had any actual solutions—but usually Seto would make everyone stay until something was actually presented before ending the meeting. This time, he just left.

He had a feeling everyone kind of knew why. They were all staring at him with something that seemed uncomfortably like concern. Seto was not the cruelest boss—he did not make Kaiba Corp how it was by being completely unreasonable, but after so many years of being wanted only because of his intellect rather than who he was and what he loved, he could only assume the others were worried because they feared for their jobs if something should happen to him. That kind of concern irked him to no end. He hated people who cared only because of selfish reasons even more than he hated people who did not care at all. At least the latter were honest and owned their selfishness.

He hoped the bug would go away soon, because this was not to be tolerated. The sudden depletion of his stamina, which he had come to rely on as much as his intelligence, was a rude shock to him.

Yugi-tachi at the mansion was an even ruder one.

"I invited them over…" Mokuba blanched when he saw Seto come in. He seemed about to ask if Seto was alright, but knew better than to do so in front of the others.

_Well if you invited them over, you can take care of them._ Seto cut away before any of them could see how much it hurt him. It was pathetic; Mokuba was his own person, and Seto wanted him to be happy, even if it meant hanging out with Yugi-tachi. It was not like Seto was clingy, but he sort of was; so many years, Seto had been Mokuba's world, and now the idiots were shoving him out of Mokuba's life. And why not? Seto was hardly there for Mokuba, working as he was all the time at Kaiba Corp. Mokuba was the vice president, but still a child. He needed to play, needed to do things children did, and Seto could not provide that for him because he was _working so much_…

_You are driving yourself crazy._ Not like Yugi-tachi could ever take Seto's place. In the end, Mokuba would always take his side.

_Right?_

He went to his room, set down his briefcase and collapsed on his bed, rubbing his eyes. There were actually many times he longed for his mother. Over the years, Seto had learned to actively suppress that yearning, but now he wished she were here, because he was really tired and really upset, and her absence felt like a gaping hole that hurt and hurt and hurt, ceaselessly, with every beat of his heart.

He should check his temperature.

"Thirty-eight point five…" So he was mildly feverish. He was at a loss as to what caused this though. A virus? He rubbed the back of his neck, thinking, then rubbed again, frowning. Did his neck use to feel like this before?

It seemed a little silly to look at his neck in the mirror, especially since he was trying to see the back of it, turning his head stupidly from side to side to no avail. There did not _seem _to be anything wrong, at least not that he was aware of. He did not actually make a habit of staring at himself in the mirror, other than to make sure his shirt was buttoned properly and his tie was acceptable.

_No, there is something off._ Not that Seto could say _what _it was though. He felt like his neck looked different from how it use to, but how…?

Maybe he should take a nap.

* * *

"He's taken a nap once in a while," Mokuba frowned, "He's not a machine, but I feel like this is unlike him."

They must have made for quite a sight; Yugi, Anzu, Jou, and Honda peeking from the side of the door frame into Kaiba's room, while Mokuba stood in the middle, trying to make sense of what they were seeing.

Then again, Kaiba had made for quite a sight. It was nothing as overt as hollow cheeks or sunken eyes, but there had always been this energy to him, this power that came from sheer personality, extending beyond even his expensive clothes or impressive height. The light in his eyes, the set of his shoulders, the aura of sharp intelligence and resolve.

He seemed small, all of the sudden. A boy their age had walked through the door, not a CEO of a giant company. He had not even glared at them before leaving to go to his room.

"He has been acting strange for a while," Mokuba worried his lip. "Tired. He's usually pretty tired, but not so much that he can't hide it."

"Not like Kaiba can't come down with the flu once in a while," Jou sounded dubious.

"I kind of doubt a flu would make Kaiba act so…" Yugi hesitated, because he could not quite put his finger on what word to actually use to describe Kaiba's behavior now.

Mokuba shut the door then, so the gang withdrew to return to the sitting room.

"He's been upset lately," Mokuba confided as they all took their seats. "I don't know why."

"What's that like?" Jou snorted. "Now he yells at every other person instead of every three people?"

Mokuba scowled. "For your information, my brother doesn't yell much."

"Hm," Though Jou had to concede, Kaiba might not be the nicest guy in the world, but yelling really was not his style.

"He's just been unhappy lately."

"Kaiba's depressed?"

"I don't know," Mokuba scowled again, "And what if he _is_?"

Yugi, catching Mokuba's testy tone, inserted in before Jou could provoke the young boy further, "Has anything happened lately? Is something worrying him?"

"Nothing I can think of. Things have been per usual. He was fine when we first came back to Domino from America. Then…I think it might have started a few months ago. It's like," He paused, unwilling to say it, but needing to tell someone, "It's like he's been fading."

It really culminated with this morning, when Mokuba saw his brother and noticed that something was very wrong. It was more of a feeling, a sensation, than anything his eyes could have picked up. His brother had always been such a strong presence, being near him was like going near a power source, like being close to the sun. Only Mokuba had been able to touch his brother and not get burned.

Somehow, his brother's presence was just gone, and his features almost grayed out, and the surrounding air darkened, as if he had been illuminating his environment up till now. Mokuba spent the entire day at school thinking over what he had seen, and upon reflection, he realized this had been going on for a while. Every day, a little less, until finally Mokuba noticed.

Seto would never allow Mokuba to take care of him. It was something that frustrated Mokuba to no end. To Seto, Mokuba would always be that tiny infant that his big brother sang lullabies to and shielded from bullies. Sometimes Mokuba really wished his brother would stop doing everything, because if he kept doing everything, how was Mokuba supposed to do anything? It was like his brother had no idea that Mokuba was capable of growing up, that he was actually growing up. He was becoming a teenager, he was starting to get taller, and he has had a mind of his own for a while now. Though Mokuba idolized his brother as much as everyone said he did, that did not mean Mokuba was a mindless drone. The fact that his brother seemed insistent that Mokuba was just a useless baby was downright irritating.

"Eh," Honda muttered, "It's Kaiba. Whatever it is, it can't take him down. Heck, look at what we've all been through. If none of _that _could take him down, what's a bug?"

Mokuba's irritation switched from his brother to his friends. Sometimes they could be very insensitive. It was like they actually believed that his brother was a machine, that he could not feel hurt, that they could just keep bashing at him and he would never give. He wished he could convince his brother to show them his scars. Seto would never allow pain to rule him, but that did not mean he could not feel pain.

"He's still human," Yugi pointed out, and looked at Mokuba. The younger boy felt his ire fade a little. Sometimes Yugi's compassion was a little bit much, but at times like this it was easy to see why his empathy was actually a strength. "Let us know if there's anything we can do, Mokuba-san. We'd be glad to help."

"Yeah," Jou piped in, "Even if it's Kaiba, and he's a complete jerk," But he was grinning, and he was earnest. That was what was special about Jounouchi as well, Mokuba reflected. He said stupid things, and even believed them, but deep down he was a good guy. Someone like Yugi would never get along so well with anyone who was anything less.

"Will do," He said to the others, and received encouraging nods in return.

_I might have to._

* * *

He slept through the evening and into the morning. Thirteen hours.

Seto had to admit, as surprising as that stunt had been, he actually felt better for it. Mokuba seemed to think so as well, beaming at him and exclaiming that he looked "less dead". He was not entirely sure what to make of that remark, but then these days he had not been entirely sure what to make of himself either, so he let the comment slide. Mokuba chattered about Yugi-tachi, which Seto listened with only mild interest. He caught that nothing had been destroyed and everyone left reasonably happy, and that was as much as he needed to know.

Work went by smoothly, though he ended up staying until nine, at which he started to feel like any energy he accumulated from the previous night's rest started to disappear very fast. He survived the trip home, but the house loomed an impossible distance away from the gate, and the briefcase felt surprisingly heavy, even though the contents were the same as always.

_Maybe I just need another good night's sleep._ Coffee could only do so much, after all.

He was reaching for his keys when an arm suddenly wrapped around his waist, pinning his arms to his sides. A hand grabbed his face, sealing his mouth closed, and the same elbow pressed his upper body back onto a broad torso.

"So the Blue Eyes Dragon Child liveth again," A voice whispered in his ear, followed by a high-pitched giggle.

He was a big man, much taller than him, but Seto was no stranger to such odds. He brought his training to bear, moving his weight back to push his assailant into a retreat—but the arms around him were like a vice. He kicked back and struck a knee, but it was like kicking at a tree—the leg did not even bend, and there was not even an intake of breath.

The man was still giggling. "As pretty in this lifetime as the last. Now that they mourneth their lost empire, I have all the time in the world…"

Seto writhed as a slick warmth brushed against his neck. The man was _licking _him! He tried to open his mouth, but the fingers clamped like metal over his jaw.

"Scared? Scared, yesssss…" A head dipped over his shoulder and sniffed in deeply, "No more shadow magic to help thee, no…just this poor mortal flesh and poor mortal bones, like all thy brethren."

Seto _was _scared. Terrified. Was it because he had weakened so much, or was this man just that strong? He struggled again, kicking, but this seemed to only irritate the man.

"Enough," He snapped, and suddenly Seto saw the shadows—shadows cast by the moonlight and the lights of his home, dark and solid and impenetrable—_move _along the ground like water. They went up his legs and he could actually _feel _them grip and glue them down. A strangled cry of shock was muffled by the hand, but the man behind him chuckled.

"Yes, Loki shall have his due, indeed…"

_Loki?_

There was suddenly a rumble of thunder, and seconds later, the moonlight went out. Rain, fierce and thick, splattered down on them, as if someone had suddenly turned on a thousand garden sprinklers.

His assailant tightened his grip, but seemed alarmed.

"What is this?"

"Loptr," A new voice commanded, "Let him go."

Seto felt himself be spun around as his assailant turned to face the newcomer.

The rain was so thick, and the darkness cast by the clouds so impenetrable, Seto could hardly make out the figure. He knew it was tall, though, and male—the voice had confirmed as much. There was a gleaming hint of metal, and white eyes glowing—Seto felt his stomach drop down as he took stock. _No, no more magic, please…_not now, not when he was so tired, he was actually starting to feel sick—_I thought this Egyptian nonsense was over with._

"Storm God," His assailant hissed. "This is not thy territory."

"Nor yours," Said the newcomer. "Let the child go."

But his assailant just giggled that maniacal giggle that made the hairs on Seto's nape prickle with cold fear.

"Come to stop me, Storm God?"

Lightning flashed, illuminating a face that strongly resembled that of Middle-Eastern folk.

"Loki," He stated again, "I will not ask again."

Loki just laughed. "Make me."

Without warning, Seto felt his body flip around as shadows suddenly surged up from the ground. He saw the Middle-Eastern Storm God reach out in alarm—

The shadows swallowed them. Seto felt a sharp pain shoot down his neck like whiplash, and then he knew nothing.


End file.
